


Genesis

by piggybackride (mssileas)



Series: Cryptid OT3 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A Monster Love Story, Anal Sex, Animal Death, Blood, Cryptid OT3, Dr. Junkenstein - Freeform, Frankenkhog, Gore, Hayseed Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Hayseed/Junkenstein/Monster, Junkenstein's Revenge, M/M, Narcotics, Oral Sex, Sexual Experimentation, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, a surprising amount of plot, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 18:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15540657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssileas/pseuds/piggybackride
Summary: The Monster lives.And it hasmuchto learn.NOW FEATURING SHANKS' FANTASTIC ARTWORK!





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> There have been some requests to write a sequel to the Cryptid OT3 - I'd suggest to read that first, though you should be doing fine reading this as a stand-alone. I'm really excited to share this with you, it really outgrew itself because I just love me some big monsters qq
> 
> Heed the warnings :D Enjoy!

The Monster lives. 

Hayseed thought the day it comes to life would be a happy one - he imagined it would know him, or the Doctor, that it would be glad to be alive and thankful and curious about his maker and his companion. 

It is none of these things. 

It wakes with a roar that is drenched in pain and agony, tearing at its restraints. They snap as if they are made from paper, and while Hayseed instinctively backs away until he’s pressed up against the cold stone wall, the Doctor just watches in horrified fascination. The very air is static from electricity and Hayseed’s head threatens to burst from the torturing cacophony of rattling, howling machines that are overwhelmed by the energy they are forced to produce. One of them has started to smoke and Hayseed flinches whenever it sparks in protest. Half of them will be ruined by the time the Doctor’s experiment is successfully completed. It won’t matter. He only needs them this one time. 

Hayseed can hear the Doctor’s unhinged laughter - every sense of self-preservation seems completely lost on him as he stares at his creation. “It lives! Hayseed, _it lives_!” The Scarecrow can barely hear his ecstatic yelling over all the noise that echoes and breaks from the stone walls, endlessly magnifying the chaos. 

Yes, it does. But it is not happy about it. The Monster rips through the leather belts that fixate his arms to the table first, grabbing at the collar around his neck next. The Doctor does nothing but stare - his face is split almost in half by the exhausted, delirious grin. He’s completely beside himself, howling in triumph and victorious pride, even though he’s bone-tired at the same time. The dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes give that away easily. Hayseed hasn’t seen him sleep in days - it’s not unusual for the Doctor to get lost in his work, but this time the Scarecrow’s afraid he has pushed himself too far. The man’s so in awe of his creature’s pure strength, his fogged mind doesn’t realize the danger it poses to him. Hayseed does. 

The collar snaps, and only when the Monster sits up, grunting and growling and filled with a fury that makes Hayseeds insides clench with terror, does the Doctor notice that something is off. The Monster does not recognize him. Not like Hayseed did, anyway. 

“Do you not know me…?” the Doctor asks, already knowing the answer as he is slowly stepping back, and he sounds so _heartbroken_ , it makes Hayseed angry. Angry at that dumb creature that stares at his own maker with no understanding of who it’s looking at, angry at the brutish way it rips cables and tubes from its body, threatening to damage not only the equipment - that is far from saving, anyway - but also itself. After all the countless days and weeks and months the Doctor has spent building it, after all the fruitless attempts to bring it to life. It has no idea how much sweat and blood and tears have gone into its creation. But Hayseed does. 

The man’s pale face falls. The shadow of fear on it, when that undead beast comes to its feet, unnaturally huge and looming over the Doctor, is what makes the Scarecrow break from where he’s frozen still. It frightens him too. But it can’t hurt Hayseed the way it can hurt a mortal. 

The Doctor can’t move. He knows he should. There’s a primal instinct screaming at him in the back of his head - _run, run as fast as you can, and then even faster_ \- but he can’t move. It doesn’t know him. His beloved Monster looks at him as if he’s a stranger. Worse than that; as if he’s a bug it wants to squish if only to see what color his intestines are. This isn’t what he wanted… This isn’t what he _made_ and he can’t believe his own skills would betray him so. 

It’s moving clumsily, too enraged to focus on its balance or whether it hurts itself more when it stumbles against one of the screeching machines. It never notices the second presence in the room until it lunges for the Doctor, and a shadow suddenly rams into its side full force. 

Hayseed is light. In a paradox contrast to that, though, he is also strong. He’s more magic than science in that regard, and it serves to throw the Monster off balance. They tumble right over the stone-set table and come crashing into the Doctor’s mistreated equipment. The ear-shattering noise of clanking, breaking metal, splintering glass and his creatures’ pained grunts and screams finally rips the Doctor from his dazed state. 

They will tear each other apart. And there’s nothing he can do to stop them - to get in between them would mean to get broken into a million pieces. He’s not like them. He’s just a mortal man. Exhaustion and an existential disappointment he hasn’t felt in years wash over him so suddenly his legs will no longer carry him. He doesn’t even feel the cold of the cobbled floor anymore when he sinks down, staring helplessly at the scene unfolding before his eyes.

-

Hayseed did not want to fight the Monster. Now it leaves him no choice. It might be big, bigger than any mortal could dream of being, furious and out to tear this place and everyone in it apart. But Hayseed is not just straw and rags, he is the Scarecrow. He is the guardian of this castle and its grounds, and even the Doctor’s, though that seems to elude the man at times. And he cannot be killed _again_. 

He has barely recovered from the crash, trying to gain footage on his two uneven legs when the Monster stirs, hauling up its massive body - the Doctor has done a fantastic job, all stitches are tight and intact. It makes Hayseed almost regret what he has to do next. Before the Monster can shake off the dizziness, the Scarecrow has gripped a broken brass pipe and smacks it into the pig-snouted face with as much force as he can muster. 

It’s a sick sound when the pipe hits too soft, dead flesh, made even more nauseating by the accompanied crack of a jawbone and the Monster howls in pain, stumbling backward and going down again. From where he sits, the Doctor can only stare - if he had to bet on the outcome of that fight, he would not have gone for Hayseed. His silent, curious, good-natured companion who only ever got himself in trouble with his undying curiosity. Now, it is him who’s towering over the groaning, grunting creature, intimidating in a way the Doctor has never seen him. Slowly, he holds up a blackened hand in front of the heaving Monster, as if it bidding it to stop.

The atmosphere changes. 

Everything falls silent. Time passes slower. The smoke curling up from the machines turns into a liquid-looking, lazy dribble. The Monster tries to get up again, but it’s straining efforts are getting it nowhere as if it’s held back by an invisible barrier. 

The only moving thing on Hayseed is his heaving chest, his brass lens eyes are pinned on the struggling Monster. 

It stares back at the Scarecrow with eyes that show no understanding. It doesn’t know what’s it’s struggling against, but all its muscles are of no use when it’s fighting something it can’t see. 

All the Monster knows is, it’s hurting. _Everything_ hurts, it hurts so bad it wants to wreck everything around it and then itself. But it can’t move and all its resistance fuels the pain until it’s just roaring in frustration and agony anymore. 

Hayseed’s shivering with the effort of containing it. He barely ever needs to use this much blatant force - it threatens to overwhelm him, but if he lets on how close the Monster comes to break through his magic bonds, it won’t ever give in. He feels like fainting by the time it finally ceases to resist. When the fight leaves the Monster’s body, it becomes apparent what torments it so: the amount of energy it took to bring it to life has been so forceful, it has woken to nothing but core-deep fear and pain. It shows clear as day on the Monster’s broken face. Hayseed knows that feeling. 

It’s still breathing in short, heavy gasps, and the mistrust barely vanishes from its eyes even when Hayseed slowly lifts the ban. There’s a violent shiver running through the muscled, stitched up body, but before it can decide whether it wants to attack again, the Scarecrow slowly crouches down. There’s a soft sound coming from underneath the burlap - it’s a soothing, gentle and decidedly non-human whistle. It sounds like a summer breeze brushing through the treetops. 

The Monster thinks it remembers that sound and for the first time, his gaze actually focuses on the creature in front of it. The Scarecrow doesn’t look threatening anymore. It sits down slowly, carefully, and the air around them suddenly feels normal again. Hayseed has shed whatever powers he was using as easily as a cloak. He is cocking his head now, curiously looking back at the Monster through the brass lenses - one of them is cracked, but he’s sure the Doctor will fix that for him. 

Behind them, the man stirs, coming to a halt again as the Monster grunts in response to his movements. “It’s okay,” the Doctor rasps, his voice a sharp counterpart to the animalistic noises the Monster makes and… well, whatever sounds Hayseed apparently is capable of making. “I’m not hurting you. No one here.. will hurt anyone, right…?” He is completely shaken, barely able to grasp the situation that just unfolded before him. Hayseed can see it in the way his hands tremble when he holds them up. Still, the Doctor slowly shuffles closer in a weird crawl, if whether to avoid provoking the Monster or simply because his legs will not carry him safely, he cannot say. 

The Doctor feels so light-headed, it’s a miracle he’s not floating, he thinks. He moves slowly, carefully, looking for a tub in the middle of a broken shelf. He’s dimly aware he’s trying to speak soothingly to the Monster, but it might just be nonsense as well. He’s approaching it like he would a wild animal. As cautious as he can - it’s not an easy exercise for the twitchy, hectic man and he can’t help getting distracted by just admiring his creation. 

Even sitting down, it’s gigantic. Incomparable to the puny humans inhabiting the town, as huge as the Doctor has dared to make it and as strong as three bulls - and it lives. He has made this. And survived it. For now. 

He can hear the Monster’s heavy, rattling breath when he’s finally at arm’s length with it, carefully unscrewing the tub and dipping his fingers into a thick salve. “It will make the pain go away,” he explains. He expected this procedure to be painful for the creature. It had been for Hayseed too. He didn’t anticipate the violent outburst, although in hindsight it makes sense. He didn’t have to use so much pure, energy-fueled force to make Hayseed. That wouldn’t have worked. 

The Monster flinches when the man touches the scar where its arm is sewn to its shoulder, growling at him instinctively. The hand jerks back as if it had been burned. “Now stop that nonsense, I’m making you hurt less.” There’s a different sternness to the Doctor’s voice now and the growling turns into a lower rumble. “There, that’s better.”

The Doctor makes slow work of it, focusing on the scars, the puncture holes from the syringes and the singed places he had the electrodes attached to. Once in a while, the Monster will interrupt its rumbling with a huff, but it’s gradually relaxing under the touch. 

When it has decided that the Doctor does not want to harm it any further, its reserve slips to reveal a cautious interest. It watches a pale, slim hand apply medicine to its wounds, watches the small human get a bit bolder and finally lift himself up on his feet - he still barely stands taller than the sitting Monster.

 

The Doctor still can’t calm the tremble in his body. By now it’s different, though, raw excitement soothing the fear but not the tension. The Monster is really looking at him now. It still doesn’t recognize him, there’s no sense of familiarity in its small eyes, and it's still a bit apprehensive. Very different from Hayseed. But it's clearly looking at him.

The Scarecrow is watching them, unmoving. His presence feels serene enough, though, and the Doctor will have to find out what in God’s name he has just done with the Monster. Afterward. When he’s done fixing up their newest addition to what has now grown to maybe the most morbid family in history. And when he’s slept for seventy-two hours straight. There will still be time then for everything.

Hayseed’s trust was a gift. For the Monster’s trust he will have to work, he realizes as he’s tending to its wounds under a wary gaze. And so he will.

 

-

 

Dr. Jamison Junkenstein has never appreciated the work the witch has done on Hayseed quite as much as during the first days of living with his monster. The Scarecrow did not only recognize him, he remembers how to do most everyday things, he understands when the Doctor speaks to him. He seems to be aware of what he is - as far as the Doctor can tell, anyway. If Hayseed has any memories of his past life, he does not let on. The Doctor thinks he doesn’t, but whether it’s a side effect of the intense change he has undergone or because the witch has taken them from him as an act of mercy, he cannot determine. Maybe it’s both. 

The Monster is just man-made, though. It spends the first days completely baffled by its own existence and everything around it, but one thing it establishes quickly: neither the Doctor nor his curious companion mean any harm to it. 

It does not know what to make of the Scarecrow. _Hayseed_ , the Doctor calls him. He’s silent most of the time, but always watching with his stitched, frozen grin and softly whirring lenses. 

The man, though, he is always talking. Always busy, too, even while leading the Monster through the castle - most of it is but a dead ruin. One person does not need an entire castle, so the Doctor only keeps a secluded area in maintenance. Most of his rambling doesn’t mean anything to the Monster. It just follows in heavy, lumbering steps, occasionally stopping dead in its tracks to inspect unfamiliar gadgets and furniture, until the Doctor notices it’s not behind him anymore and offers a name for its discoveries. 

Everything has a name. Sometimes it tries to imitate the sounds of the names it can remember. Like _Hayseed_. But its tongue feels too heavy and most of its early attempts are just inarticulate grunting that makes it frown in confusion and contempt. The Doctor has another name too. It’s _Jamison Junkenstein_ and the Monster doesn’t even want to try to articulate this jumble of syllables at first. Though the man’s face lights up in such pure delight and awe when it does, that maybe it can learn how to say it right one day. 

The first real words it speaks are short, easy ones. _Yes, No_ and _Cat_. Though the Doctor teaches it that one through a rather unconventional lesson.

-

The Monster likes to explore the castle. It can take hours exploring its new home, the smells, and sounds, the abundance of discarded possessions left to rot in the uninhabited parts of the castle. There are other living things besides Hayseed and the Doctor to be found, too. Little, fluttering creatures that live in the roof beams. They make funny, chirping sounds, and the Monster wishes it could catch one so it could get a closer look, but they’re too small and fast and know how to stay well without its reach. Other, bolder creatures too. They run on four legs, swiftly and absolutely silent, and they look soft and fluffy from head to tail. It takes a while until the Monster can corner one of them - they’re clever and quick, but eventually, the Monster traps one and reaches curiously for it. 

The creature does not appreciate it. All hissing and bristling do nothing to deter its capturer, so when a giant fist grabs it, ruthless teeth and claws sink into sick flesh. 

The Monster roars in surprised pain - its instincts do not tell it to back away, though. Quite the contrary. In a flash of rage, it grabs at the wriggling thing even harder and smashes it into the ground until it lets go. Warm blood dribbles down the Monster’s fingers by then and the fur-coated creature has gone limp in its grasp. The Monster curiously sniffs at it. The metallic smell stirs something it hasn’t felt since it woke up. Hunger. It doesn’t know that feeling. But it knows the answer to it intuitively. 

By the time the Doctor has noticed the Monster’s absence and finds it in the damp, moldy area that used to be a library, the pig snout is digging through the animal's quickly cooling intestines. It’s grunting and slurping with the same gusto a human would devour a hearty stew after being starved for three days and the Doctor stops dead in his tracks, staring at the bloodied fur peeking through the Monster’s fingers. The limp, bushy tail is a striped orange color, and he gasps in outrage. 

“That’s my favorite cat you’re eating there!”

There’s tons of cats roaming the castles, most of them nothing more than shadowy presences. Only the fluffy orange one was curious enough to befriend the human, occasionally hopping on his workbench so he can scratch its round head and get fed a few scraps of leftover food in return. Of course it would be the first one to get caught, the Doctor thinks, but still - that’s not the ending it deserved. 

The Monster shows no remorse when it looks up, only confusion as to why the man sounds so upset. Thick, gooey blood is obscenely slowly running down its snout and neck and a morbidly tingly feeling mixes with the Doctor’s initial shock. “Cats are not for eating!” he scolds the Monster, pointing at the torn animal in its hand. The Monster’s eyes follow the movement. 

“ _Cat_ ,” it rumbles, studying the carcass - if the Monster feels any different about what it has done to the creature, now that it knows its name, it doesn’t show. Its expression stays blank. The Doctor sighs. He’ll have to find another food source for the Monster. He’d wouldn’t want it to wither, after all. This is another problem that does not occur with Hayseed. 

“Yes, that’s a cat. Used to be, anyway. Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” The Doctor is speaking so quickly again, the Monster can barely make out what he’s saying. But it understands the _’Come follow me’_ gesture. The cat’s body drops to the ground with a wet, squelching sound that has the Doctor pulling a face.

He leads the Monster back to his bedroom - it’s way bigger than the name lets on, and probably the nicest room in the whole castle. The walls are so high the Monster could be twice as tall and still not reach the ceiling. The dusty crystal chandelier, maybe. The furniture could as well have belonged to kings. The bed is insanely huge, with a massive, ornate headboard. Its details are painted in splintering gold that accentuates the dark wood. Heavy curtains attached to the bedposts can be closed all around it. The moths have been at them, but those bastards are everywhere. The wooden floor creaks under the Monster’s weight, and like every time it comes in here, its heavy hand curiously touches the silk tapestry. This time it leaves a smear of blood in its wake. 

Hayseed is perched up on the wide windowsill, bathing in the sunlight falling through tinted glass, There’s a soft rustling when he turns his head to them, tilting it in a greeting. He’s in here more often, ever since that night the Doctor caught him down in the dungeon. He has been in the Doctor’s bed more often, too. That is an interesting development. 

Suddenly, he’s very aware of his two creations’ presence in the room and it sends an almost violent shiver through his body. Ever so often, the realization hits him anew: he has made them. Sure, right, maybe the witch had to help out with Hayseed a little. But she would have nothing to revive in the first place if it hadn’t been for him! And the Monster - well, the Monster was all his handiwork. He could trade it for the life of a cat. Even though he liked that cat. “Come, sit here,” he tells the Monster, pointing to the bed and leaving it to get settled while he fetches some water. “And you better have an eye on him while I’m gone!” he orders Hayseed in passing, waving a stern finger at the Scarecrow. He’s not in the mood for any more animals being used as dinner bowls. 

When he comes back with a basin full of lukewarm water, Hayseed is no longer on the windowsill. He’s sitting right next to the Monster, almost close enough to lean against it, carefully touching the drying blood on its snout. The Scarecrow looks at it in question. “ _Cat_ ”, the Monster grunts and Hayseed nods in understanding. On the Doctor’s sharp, thin faces blooms a smile so warm and delighted it rivals the spring sun. It’s the first time he’s actually seeing them have what can count as a real conversation. 

The Monster looks at the Scarecrow. “ _Hay … Eed…_ ”, it breathes as if it’s two separate words. The deep, heavy grunt makes it difficult for it to pronounce certain sounds, but the Doctor is sure it will come around. The Monster looks at him now. “ _Doc... Tor…_ ,” it grunts, then tries again. “ _Jay… Mee… Nnn…_ ” The last syllable is really just a sound instead of an actual syllable, but it always warms the Doctor’s heart anyway when the Monster tries. 

“Yes, Jamison, that’s right,” he praises it, placing the basin on a cushioned footrest. The Monster places a hand on its own chest and makes a questioning noise. The Doctor grins. Of course, it wants to have a name, too. He could have just chosen one, months ago and in his head, he calls the Monster a thousand things. But it’s not so much about _giving_ a name, as finding the right one. For that, the Doctor had to know his creature. It had to know itself. Because what was the point in a sentient creation if you only forced your own will upon it. 

“You?” he asks thoughtfully while wetting a washcloth and slowly closes the distance between himself and the Monster. It’s so big, the Doctor has to climb to kneel on the bed so he can reach its face properly. “Let’s see…,” It has to be an easy name, he thinks. One it can pronounce without difficulty - everything else would simply be cruel. The man still moves cautiously around the Monster. The last thing he’d want is to spook it. It doesn’t take well to scares or sudden pains, numerous previously beeping or screeching machines can account for that. And the orange cat. If he wants the Monster to tear him apart, it’s in a quite different manner. 

It huffs and snuffles while the Doctor cleans up the snout nose - those noises always make Hayseed giggle, and he can just imagine what it would sound like if that eager snout dug through rags and straw to discover that that wasn’t all there was to the Scarecrow. The Doctor impatiently bites his lips. Those thoughts just make his concentration slip, and when that happens he’ll do something rash and twitchy, like poke the Monster in its eye, and that would be the last of Dr. Jamison Junkenstein. Not really the way he intends to go. The Doctor tries to focus on cleaning gunk and crusted blood from between the folds in the pig-snout when an idea crosses his mind that makes him laugh. 

“Hog!” he cheers, leaning back a bit so he can fully look into the Monster’s face to see its reaction. “That will be your name: Hog. What do you think?”

The Monster tilts its head, rumbling somewhere low in its throat. “ _Hog.._ ,” it repeats then, right on the first try, and the Doctor beams at it with pride. Hayseed’s quiet giggle probably means he likes it, too. 

“Wonderful! Hog - that’s a good name for you. Hog, my Hog, my sweet Hoggie…” The Monster’s rumbling sounds more content now, either despite or because of the man’s excited babbling. Before he can stop himself, the Doctor leans forward and plants an affectionate kiss on Hog’s damp snout. 

The Monster falls silent immediately. So does Hayseed, and the Doctor freezes. He shouldn’t have done this, he thinks, and suddenly understands how the Scarecrow has found himself in such a precarious situation a few weeks back. Damned be temptation. At that time, though, the biggest threat to Hayseed was the Doctor’s wrath. But now the Monster is alive and aware of what’s happening around it. And the Doctor has no idea how it handles intimacy. Sure, he has created it with a rather… specific interest in mind. Which is one of the many reasons why he could not include the Witch in making Hog. Really, how should he have explained to her why he needed to make his creature so absurdly big in _every_ regard. She wouldn’t have understood, and if she had, who knows if the evil hag would have made him share. 

The principle was the same, though. He had not made Hog a self-aware creature just so he could then force him to do anything. The whole point was that he’d want it himself. Eventually. Just like Hog had discovered hunger, he would discover other urges. By then, he’d know the Doctor to be someone who could take care of him and all his needs, and this would be no different. That’s how it was supposed to happen. Because if the Doctor just wanted to build something to fulfill a purely physical need, he wouldn’t have needed to put so much effort into it. He had relied on self-made phallus replicas and machines for years, he could have stuck to them if that had ever satisfied him. Sure, in a way his trinkets and inventions are definitely superior to living beings. More reliable, more durable, and at his service to take the razor sharp edge off his mind whenever he needs it. It isn't ever enough, though. No machine would ever replace alive companions. 

And now, no breathing being will compare to what he built. The Monster stares at him for terribly long seconds, every one of its heavy, rattling breaths expand its broad chest even further. The muscles in its arms tense up. One of them is almost the width of the Doctors whole body, and not for the first time since he has woken the Monster, he feels a pang of fear in his chest. Maybe he has made it too big and too powerful. As if a bug were to invent a boot. He knows Hayseed is here, though, and Hayseed protects him. They have established that, but it is hard to believe that with the Scarecrow merely watching in mild curiosity. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to - get a bit distracted with you sometimes, y’know?” The man is rambling again, avoiding Hog’s eyes when he slowly lowers his arm to dap at the thick neck next. He is a weird fellow, this Doctor. Most of the time he’s so scatterbrained, throwing words at the Monster while doing who knows what else. Always jotting down notes, carrying clutter from one place to another, screwing, hammering, working in his lab until he is clouded in smoke from cables and colorful vials. The Monster doesn’t like the laboratory much - it’s too hectic and all the noise makes it anxious. And when it gets anxious, it destroys stuff. So it roams the castle instead until the Doctor comes to find it. 

The only time the man is quiet is when he’s busy cleaning up Hog’s stitches. The movements of his pieced-together body put a lot of stress on the seams of his skin that is only slowly healing together, so the Doctor keeps a close eye on them. He does that with so much focus, it left Hog free to study the tiny human in the past days like he does now. He is quick and fluttery like the creatures living under the roof, and just as frail, too. Fiercer, though. Hog thinks he has a face like that cat when it snarled at him. Sharp and bare and showing too many teeth when he grins, like now, though it’s also strained and he’s still not looking into the Monster’s face. 

So the Monster just keeps looking at him, trying to figure out why the Doctor would press his mouth into its snout. He’s never done that before. It leaves a weird tingle on the Monster’s skin, one it knows from when the Doctor rubs the cooling salve into its raw flesh when he’s tightened the stitches. It’s one of the nice feelings, Hog decides. 

The Doctor doesn’t do it again. He finishes cleaning up the Monster instead when he feels the tension drain from his creature. He’s taking his time, too - in contrast to the various forms of discomfort Hog knows from his maintenance measures, his touches now are soft and gentle. They linger on his broad neck and muscled shoulders, occasionally even on his chest for the duration of one, deep breath. The Scarecrow is leaning into his other side, and for a second the Monster’s mind struggles with being crowded from both sides. That is until a slim, blackened hand slips into his, tracing curious fingertips over its palm and fingers and an odd surge of warmth and familiarity floods its stomach. 

Since their rather unfortunate first get-together, Hayseed has kept his distance, only watching. Assessing the situation. Keeping the Doctor safe from Hog’s outbursts. He can’t help it. Those loud, screeching machines frighten him until his mind blacks out and jumps to the only leftover solution: destroy them. He doesn’t ever mean to hurt the Doctor in his tantrums. Though the man is noisy, too, and sometimes his words are sharp and sting, but then they are gentle and soothing the next second. He always knows ways to make Hog’s patched up body hurt less, too. Sometimes the Doctor even makes it feel like something that must be the opposite of hurt, like when he put his mouth against the Monster’s snout, but it can’t place that sensation. Hayseed has understood that - and now he’s making peace with the fellow creature. 

“There you go, all squeaky clean and handsome again,” the Doctor announces his finished job, letting the bloodied rag drop into the basin, carelessly drying his hand on his coat. It’s trembling a bit, like the rest of his body, from the restraint with which he has to move around the Monster. He’s sure, over time it will become a bit more balanced in its temper - it already acts much calmer around him and Hayseed too than in the beginning. In fact, the Doctor can’t help but notice how it’s allowing the Scarecrow to not only lean against its broad, solid body but also to _hold its hand_. As if they are a couple, he thinks.

That’s a good development, the Doctor decides when he releases Hog from his care and climbs off the bed. Certainly a lot better than them fighting each other. He wants to deny the pang of jealousy in his chest, which he knows is unreasonable, but it stings anyway. The exact nature of their relationship towards each other continues to elude him to a certain extent. In a way, they are brothers - not human, not supposed to be alive, relying on whatever abilities their maker has gifted them with. But they are so different, too. 

The Scarecrow is as much a result of the Doctor’s surgical skills as the mercy of the witch, who has granted him a second conscience. Hayseed used to be human. It’s but a fading image in the Doctor’s memory, but he knows who is underneath all that straw and stuffing. Now he’s magic, and not even his maker knows everything there is to know about him. The Monster, in contrast, is pure, messy science. It is the product of the Doctor’s brilliant, superior mind, the creation of someone who dreamed bigger than everyone else dared to; it’s his masterpiece. 

Down in the village, they flock to the church and pray to a God, thanking him for creating them, while they themselves are unable to create anything that is not a copy of them. They should all fall to their knees right outside of the castle gates, the Doctor thinks when he takes in the sight of his Monster. He can hear each heavy breath, watch its chest and belly expand with every one of them, see its fingers twitch and feel eyes on him that are more and more awake each day. He’d feed it all the cats in the world if that’s what it takes to keep it alive. And he’d continue to love it more than he’d ever love any of these puny humans, even if it never shows any intimate interest towards him at all - 

The Doctor needn’t have worried. 

The hand that reaches for him is so big it easily envelopes his ribcage and stomach at once, and the rush of adrenaline flooding his system washes away all other thoughts. His feet are only moving so he doesn’t stumble when he’s dragged back and turned, standing between those tree-trunk thighs, facing the Monster’s wide chest. Automatically, the Doctor’s hands come forward to brace himself, and he doesn’t even recognize the sound that comes out of his throat when they push into the intimidating swell of the Monster’s belly. 

“You alright, Hoggie?” he asks with a shaky voice, and the second he looks up the green snout is right in front of his face. The Monster huffs expectantly, causing the Doctor’s glasses to fog up. He’s pretty sure he’s just staring dumbly at it for at least an hour. That’s what it feels like. The gears in his head turn excruciatingly slow until they do pull up the image of himself pressing a kiss right there just minutes ago and a lightheaded giggle escapes him. 

“If you want another kiss, you can just say so,” he says, slowly raising his hands to cup the Monster’s big face with them. 

“ _Kisssss…_ ,” the Monster repeats, dragging out the difficult s-sound. 

The Doctor smiles. “Yes, Hog, kiss… You can have a lot of those if you want,” he sighs dreamily, before leaning forward to press his lips against the sensitive snout again, shivering in the tightening grasp. The most primal part of him wants nothing more than to rip every piece of clothing on his own body to pieces and jump at the Monster - damned be the consequences. But he’s a man of science and logic, he knows better than to do that. He has paid his price for being rash and reckless, and he can’t afford to replace any more of his shredded body.

The Monster is rumbling in its chest now, deeper and slower with every gentle kiss that is peppered along its sensitive skin until leaning down so far to allow the Doctor’s affection becomes uncomfortable. As always, its approach to a solution is simple. The big hand slides lower until it cups the man’s arse and thighs and simply lifts him up until he comes to on Hog’s round belly. The Doctor weighs absolutely nothing, and yet he’s still squeaking like he’s not aware of that when Hog moves him about like a ragdoll. The Monster wonders if the man’s capable of more funny noises like that. 

The Doctor wraps his arms around the broad neck, pressing his small, trembling body against his Monster, and Hayseed is giggling quietly next to them. He’s usually so in control, their Doctor. Even with him. He never orders Hayseed to share the bed with him, but when the Scarecrow decides to do so, everything happens by the man’s command and guidance. Yet Hog barely touches him and he’s a liquid mess in the Monster’s hands. It feels like finding a new chapter in a book you’ve read a thousand times and Hayseed is thrilled. 

Thick, pale green fingers dig into trembling flesh, consciously touching the unfamiliar body for the first time. The Doctor feels as fragile as he looks - he is skinny so little flesh on his bones Hog can feel the ridges of his ribcage even through the man’s clothes. His frantic heartbeat is fluttering against Hog’s palm. It reminds him of the struggling cat, but instead of biting and scratching him, the Doctor showers him with the most gentle touches. Excitement and fear apparently felt close to one another. The man’s face is nuzzled somewhere into Hog’s broad neck, muffling the stream of words that leave his mouth. 

_’..made you so well… so perfect… never thought you’d be here with me one day…’_

Hog knows what praise feels like. It’s what makes his stomach feel warm and his chest swells with an energy that makes him want to tear down stone walls because he doesn’t know what else to do with it. The Doctor squeaks high-pitched and raspy when Hog affectionately crushes him to his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and making the man fear for some of his ribs. He’s pretty sure he heard something crack. 

Hayseed shoves scoldingly at the Monster, making an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. _Don’t be so rough!_ , he seems to say, and the Doctor huffs out a laugh when the Monster relaxes its iron grip somewhat. “Gentle, Hoggie, gentle,” he rasps, but the Monster isn’t even paying him attention anymore. It is distracted by the Scarecrow’s nudging that’s beckoning him to move further on the bed. It moves only with hesitation - the thing creaks under their weight and the soft feather mattress doesn’t offer it as much leverage as it’s used to. Once it’s settled, Hayseed moves, climbing over its leg so he can sit behind the Doctor, effectively trapping the man between them. If there ever was some doubt left in the Doctor’s mind about his companions’ intentions, it dissolves at this moment. 

For someone who doesn’t talk, Hayseed has no trouble getting his point across. He has caught the Doctor in the same position he has found himself, weeks ago, when the Monster was still sleeping. The Doctor is a clever man - he understands immediately. It shows in the adorable blush spreading across his face and the shiver that wrecks his frail body. 

Hog’s response is immediate - the rumbling in his throat sounds curious and intrigued, but he keeps touching the Doctor in somewhat awkward strokes down his upper body now. It hurts him when Hog squeezes him, and he doesn’t intend to hurt the man. Hayseed giggles. That timid strokes are a bit better, fewer chances he has to be the one to fix up the Doctor afterward for a change, but it won’t serve to get them any closer to where the real pleasure starts. 

He wraps the stump of his arm around the Doctor’s chest as far as it will go and pulls him backward. They end up on the mattress between the Monster’s spread out legs, and it looks down at the way the Doctor is leaning into Hayseed with an intensity that has the man squirm in the Scarecrow’s grasp. 

“And what are you up to, huh?”, the Doctor asks with a shaky voice though he knows he won’t receive an answer. He doesn’t need one. Blackened fingers open the buttons of his lab coat, one by one, and the Doctor feels his mouth go dry. Hayseed usually doesn’t take the initiative like this. He lets himself be guided and taught and educated in all the forms of pleasure the Doctor can think of - and he can think of a lot - but he never takes the lead. 

Now, though, it is Hayseed who has a lesson to teach, and a student who’s willing to learn. The Monster just knows it wants to do _something_ with the human. It doesn’t know what that is, yet. Hayseed does. And soon the Monster will, too. 

It already watches intently as slim fingers open the white lab coat and peel it away slowly to reveal the skinny body hiding beneath it. The man looks even smaller in just his undershirt and skin-tight leggings. He’s breathing heavily, holding onto Hayseed’s arms while leaning his dead weight into the Scarecrow, too overwhelmed to hold it himself. The Doctor’s face is a shade of red the Monster has never seen on him before, but there’s something much more important that captures its attention now. It’s the first time it can actually _smell_ the human. It’s a warm, musky scent under the sting of chemicals and the dust of smoke that by now has probably ingrained into his coat. Now that it’s off, Hog learns the smell of his skin - it is much nicer, spiked heavily with arousal that makes it so inviting. 

Hayseed’s fingers slip beneath the thin undershirt, pulling it up in the process to reveal the Doctor’s slightly sunken stomach. There’s a trail of sparse, white hair leading down from the man’s belly button into the seam of his tights and probably further below, where his scent is so thick it makes the Monster’s mind feel a bit foggy. 

Carefully it reaches out, forgoing all pleasantries and just rubbing its thumb over the prominent bulge between the Doctor’s thighs. The man twitches and gasps but Hayseed’s not stopping it, so the Monster keeps touching him - the Doctor feels so hot there, but he’s not soft like Hog expected. Hog knows what he’s shaped like down there, and the man feels the same, though much smaller. But his flesh is stiff and pulsing in time with his heartbeat and every slow drag of Hog’s thumb makes him whine and buck into the caress. The heat pulling between the Monster’s own legs would have confused it if it hadn’t quickly understood that this must be like why the Doctor likes being touched there. Hog’s pretty sure he’d like that too. 

The Doctor believed himself to be a genius long before he even thought about building himself a companion. Or two. But now, presented on a silver platter between his two living, breathing creations, having one of them teach the other as if _he’s_ the experiment in this arrangement, he’s sure genius is not the right word any longer. He must be a _God_ , for he has created heaven. The thought makes him giggle deliriously. “ ‘s alright, Hoggie, you can touch me some more. I’m not gonna break.” His voice constantly sounds on the edge of cracking, and he feels like it too when that absurdly big hand closes around his thigh and forces the Doctor to spread his legs wider without having to put any effort into it. 

He lied, of course. The Monster could tear him apart limb by limb as easily as a kid pulled legs from a spider, and that thought sends an excited shiver through his body. Hayseed’s quiet chuckle vibrates somewhere right next to his ear. As if he has any business being smug about this whole situation, the Doctor thinks. Not long ago it had been the Scarecrow losing its inhibitions just because the Monster is such a temptation. He secretly prides himself at that, still.

His words make the Monster grow bolder anyway. It’s allowed to touch as long as he doesn’t squeeze the frail human too much, it figures. It is not easy, controlling its strength like that, but there are no more pained sounds from the Doctor when a huge hand strokes along his upper body, digging into his flesh where it touches naked skin for the first time. That feels much different from where he’s still covered by clothes. It smells different, too. Nice in a way that has Hog’s mouth water with a sensation that feels so close to hunger, but is more than that. It is so difficult for the Monster to tell all its emotions apart - so many of them are new and confusing, similar to things he already knows, but twisted and warped in a way that is hard for it to handle. 

Whatever it is the Monster’s feeling, it finds it mirrored on the Doctor’s face though, and the Doctor doesn’t seem frightened or confused by them, so why should Hog be. The human’s delicate body trembles under every touch - it looks scaringly small underneath the Monster’s big hands, but the skin beneath its fingertips heats right up. The man’s heart thrums against his ribcage so frantically the Monster thinks it has to hurt, yet all he ever does is pant and gasp, held up in a sitting position only by his faithful, loyal companion. 

For Hayseed, this is most exciting - there’s something so thrilling about witnessing the slow way in which the Monster inspects their maker, more than intrigued by the reactions it can pluck from the man with a single swipe of his thumb along the inward curve of his belly and over the stiffness between his legs that obscenely stretches out the thin piece of clothing covering it. Carefully the Scarecrow takes the askew glasses off the Doctor’s nose to place them safely out of reach - he doesn’t need those anymore. Most of the time he’s not even looking at anything anymore, alternating between closing his eyes shut to press his forehead into where Hayseed’s cheek must be under the burlap and staring unfocused down his own body. The Scarecrow finds so much pleasure in watching him like this, hot and squirming but forced to follow another one’s pace for a change. 

The Doctor’s not in charge here. Not really. The Monster will do what it pleases and when it pleases, and all his encouraging rambling can only ever get him so far. Hayseed’s just here to make sure he gets out of this in one piece because he doesn’t trust the Doctor possesses as much rationality where the Monster is concerned anymore. Hayseed can feel the flare-up of fear mix through the man’s excitement when Hog scratches at the fabric of his leggings, huffing his disdain about them covering what he wants to explore. He doesn’t take the time to figure out how to peel the man out of them or how to pull them down over the prosthetic leg, he just pulls and they rip with an ugly tearing sound. 

“Oi, watch it Hoggie, how many of those you think I have?” the Doctor tries to scold the Monster, but his already weak voice fails him completely when it drags its fingertips over his now bare, swollen cock, making him gasp instead. His hips buck up against the touch instinctively, earning a silly, happy grunt from the giant beast. It likes playing with him like that, the Doctor realizes, and it sends the most delirious rush through his body. By all the gods he didn’t believe in, he couldn’t have made it more perfect. 

He feels so deliciously small and bare and vulnerable between his two creatures - it should have frightened him to his mortal core, but where that fear would hit, it creates only feverish arousal that slowly drips down his hard, aching cock. Precum sticks to the Monster’s fingertips now and the Doctor has to bite his lips to swallow down whatever absurd noise wants to leave his throat when it brings his hand up and curiously licks off the unfamiliar substance. All in the favor of hearing the Monster _growl_ somewhere deep in its chest. 

It’s squirming now when that appendage between its legs, that it hasn’t found much use for yet, stirs in response to the rich, salty taste on its tongue. “Feelin’ good there, Hoggie?” the man giggles delightedly, peeling himself from where he’s leaning against the Scarecrow, though his limbs feel shaky and weak when he shifts until he’s kneeling. He’s reaching out until he can stroke down the curve of Hog’s belly and downwards, where the Monster is already swelling, tenting out the pants the Doctor has sewn for him. It makes a surprised huffing sound at that and the Doctor can see huge fingers dig into the bedsheets because the Monster doesn’t know what else to do with its hands yet. It’s barely half-hard and already feels threateningly massive underneath the Doctor’s curious fingertips, and the man shivers in excitement. Ideally, he would have had half a day to prepare himself for that ride, but that’s the difference between machines and living creatures. It’s much more spontaneous, so he’ll have to improvise. 

Without his glasses, the contours of the Scarecrow behind him are a bit blurry, but he can still make out how it tilts its head expectantly. “I need you to fuck me first.” 

That’s the kind of command Hayseed knows, delivered by that raspy voice that makes his skin prickle under the layers of straw and cloth. The Doctor finally shrugs off his lab coat for good, and Hayseed takes a moment to admire how debauched he looks already in just his undershirt and the ripped leggings baring his pale, sensitive skin. As he’s crawling off the bed to fetch the necessary ailments, the man’s attention already shifted back to the Monster, scooting closer carefully until he presses a soft kiss to the top of its gut. 

“You know, Hoggie… we can kiss… everywhere… if you want to…,” he mumbles between kisses to the heavy belly. His flesh hand is still rubbing and kneading curiously at the growing stiffness between the Monster’s legs, and he feels its massive thighs tremble as it moans in pleasure and the confusion that is still bound to follow. “Yeah… I think you’d like that…” Gingerly he slips both his hands under the waistband of Hog’s pants. 

The Monster observes all his movements with lidded eyes. The Doctor’s face looks different without his glasses. Younger, healthier too, the way it’s flushed with arousal, and his breath feels hot against the Monster’s skin. There’s a wicked grin spreading on his lips when his hands slip into Hog’s pants, that is new too. But everywhere the man touches and kisses the Monster, it feels tingly and warm and the knot in its belly draws tighter when a slim hand touches his naked flesh for the first time. “Perfect, absolutely perfect,” he hears the Doctor mumble. He uses that word a lot for the Monster, it notices. The Doctor leans his forehead against the Monster’s belly, moaning softly under his breath when his fingers try to wrap around that ridiculously big cock and find his fingers don’t even reach all the way. 

Really, what was he thinking, the Doctor mentally scolds himself, but there’s also an absurdly delirious giggle breaking from his throat. He’s always been a man to challenge himself. 

The mattress behind him dips when Hayseed climbs on it again, all eager, his best student just trying to prove how much he’s learned, and a warm fondness spreads in the Doctor’s chest. There’s the familiar rustling of his straw padding when he kneels behind the man, pressing against his slim form - the texture of his clothes feels rough against the Doctor’s naked skin, and he assumes Hayseed must be rather hot under all the rags and straw, yet the Scarecrow keeps refusing to bare more of himself than he has to. 

The Doctor doesn’t have to tell him what to do anymore, Hayseed knows that by now. He gets to focus completely on his lovely Monster instead. “Watch and learn, Hoggie,” he giggles, before finally leaning forward onto his elbows. It’s a terribly exposed position between his two creatures and he bites his lip as his face heats up, but Hayseed’s hand is warm and encouraging when it strokes down the Doctor’s back. 

Eye to eye with that beast of a cock it’s even more difficult to imagine it’s supposed to fit _anywhere_ , but as with all things, the Doctor decides it’s best to start at the beginning and work his way from there. The Monster groans when he curiously swipes his tongue over the tip, instinctively grabbing for him now - the huge hand comes to rest on the Doctor’s shoulders, its thumb rubbing along his nape and through tousled hair. It’s a good thing they did a court excursion to just how careful the Monster has to be with the frail human. An ounce of restraint too little and it could simply break the Doctor’s neck by accident. 

 

The Doctor’s pretty sure Hayseed has an eye on that, but then he feels the lazy dribble of lube down his asscrack and hears a husky little sound behind him that makes him unsure of where the Scarecrow’s actual interest lies. It distracts the Doctor from his current target for a second, but only until Hog impatiently nudges his hips forward and out of an obedient reflex the Doctor wraps his lips around the spongy head again as best as he can. It’s sloppy and messy and he’s drooling all over the Monster’s cock as he tries to somehow stuff it deeper inside of his mouth, but he can barely stretch his lips around it all the way. He strokes the shaft with his flesh hand instead, enjoying its throbbing and pulsing against his palm. The Doctor’s moan when Hayseed’s finger slip into his slick cleft is a muffled, choked sound. Above him, the Monster rumbles in a deep kind of satisfaction and once again the Doctor is left to feel like he’s just a subject of their study, no matter how much control he tries to take. It makes his head swim with a rush of feverish excitement. There’s not a human in the world he trusts as much as he trusts his own creations and he loves them in ways he couldn’t begin to describe to himself, let alone anyone else. To know they share not only his trust but also his desires and yearnings is the most thrilling sensation, vibrating through his very bones until his whole body feels like it is on fire. 

The Doctor can feel a slick, oiled finger slip inside of him, quickly followed by another - Hayseed knows the man can take a bit of a stretch, gets off on it even if the way his cock is twitching in response between his legs is anything to go by. He looks frail, their creator, but he loathes being treated as such. The Doctor’s breath is only coming in short huffs through his nose, and he moans somewhere low in his throat when his mind is slipping away from thoughts, clouded from the pleasure of touching and tasting and just _feeling_. He’s so hot, wedged between his creatures like that, and yet he wants even more - more of the electric, tingling sparks cursing through his slim body when Hayseed’s fingers curl up against that sweet, sweet spot inside of him that makes his eyes roll back from pleasure before he forces them shut. 

He doesn’t need to see. It’s overwhelming enough to just feel the Monster shift ever so slightly, trying to get more of that wet tongue on him, it’s rattling breath deep and labored already, laced with increasingly impatient growls. And oh, how the Doctor loves drawing these primal noises from it. 

Contrary to the Doctor, the Monster couldn’t see what the man was doing even if it wanted to. Its head feels foggy though, there’s so many new sensations - smells and sounds and blurry images, wrapping themselves together into a white-hot knot of arousal in its gut, urging it to get even more of that wet lips and tongue on its that throbbing part of its body. It doesn’t need to have a name for that to know it’s the very core of its desire. In that way, the Monster seems very much alike to its creator and there’s a rush of sudden affection for the man. Neither Hog nor Hayseed shares all the man’s words and actions, they are complex and difficult and confusing but this - this they can share. This, he understands without explanation. 

What the Monster can see is Hayseed’s hand slipping between the Doctor’s naked, spread legs, and the moan this drags from the man makes it hungry for more. It licks its lips at the slick, squelching sounds with which the Scarecrow’s slim finger move inside of the man. The Monster doesn’t have to worry whether this hurts the tiny human or not - the man keeps pressing back against the touches, moaning so prettily against the Monster’s cock before he’s all over it again, kissing and licking and sucking at it in a fevered frenzy. That’s not the sounds he makes when he’s in pain. 

The Scarecrows sewn-in features never seem to change while Hog is looking, but he still thinks the stitched mouth is grinning at him more wickedly now, excited as if he can finally share a long kept secret with someone. Instinctively, the Monster has always known that Hayseed and the Doctor were closer to each other, not only because Hayseed has been his companion for longer, but closer in a way it couldn’t put into a clear thought. Now it knows why. 

The skin on the man’s neck feels hot and damp under the Monster’s gently rubbing thumb by the time Hayseed pulls his fingers free, much to the man’s audible dismay. The Scarecrow’s soft panting is muffled by the burlap covering its face and its blackened hand pulls impatiently on the buttons of its trousers. The silent creature is rarely this eager, but now it seems driven by the same lustful desire that has them all excited and hot for each other, and the Monster watches Hayseed curiously.  
As with all the ways he assists the Doctor in, Hayseed is efficient about this too. Apparently, he still has no intention of removing any of his clothes, and the Monster can see straw stuffing peeking through his open pants where he pulls out his hard flesh - that’s all Hayseed reveals, and even that only for the time it takes to slick it up sufficiently. It disappears from its sight as soon as the Scarecrow presses back against the Doctor, and the man’s breathless, encouraging moans vibrate through Hog’s throbbing cock. 

The Doctor swims in ecstasy. He’s caught in a chain reaction, his pleasure is his creatures’ pleasure, as theirs is his, and each touch and lick and stroke is just fuel for his descend into this land of depravity. A low groan escapes him when he feels Hayseed’s hip bones finally dig into his arse cheeks and the delicious stretch of his cock fills him in just all the right places. It even makes him ignore the prickling of straw against his skin - it stings, but he doesn’t feel pain anymore, he feels only sensation, and he has to push his face into the Monster’s thick, muscled thigh for a moment. If he ever thinks about what he has to look like, face down and ass up between his two companions, disheveled and with his leggings torn to shreds, then just because he wishes he could see it from that perspective too. 

But he’s hot and dizzy already when Hayseed moves, always so gentle at first it’s just teasing the Doctor. The Scarecrow wouldn’t have it any other way. The Doctor can give it all the commands in the world, but it wouldn’t ever obey one that would make it hurt its master. Still, he’s almost sure Hayseed is stalling him on purpose today, gasping softly with each torturous slide and drag of his cock, and yet making no move to pick up his speed for any of their sakes. In fact, the Doctor thinks he can hear a faint, husky giggle when he pushes his hips back impatiently, as well as a responding, satisfied rumble from the Monster as if it completely agrees with Hayseed’s approach of making the slim man work for his rewards. He’d complain if it didn’t make his cock jump almost painfully. 

That big hand nudges him away from where his face is still nuzzling at the Monster’s thigh, very clearly prompting the Doctor to pick up where he left off. It grunts happily when warm lips wrap around the tip once more, and the Doctor feels his cheeks flush. As if on cue, Hayseed pulls out almost completely, before shoving himself back into the slick, welcoming heat in a single stroke that makes the Doctor twitch - the man’s head wants to fall back by instinct, but there is a hand strong enough to immobilize his whole body holding him down and so he just chokes helplessly around the huge cock between his lips.

He’s moving absolutely nowhere now, and he wouldn’t even if he could. Hayseed finally fucks him in that good, even rhythm that makes his vision blurrier than it already is, setting the Doctor’s whole body on fire by when he’s nudging against the man’s prostate with each languid stroke. He’s probably drooling all over the Monster’s cock, judging by how slick it is in his palm, but there’s only deep, pleasured noises to be heard from it. The Doctor doesn’t even know who’s holding him upright at that point - it can’t be him. His body is not bones and muscles anymore, just a hot, liquid entity for Hog and Hayseed to explore and use as they saw fit. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes from having to rely on breathing through his nose and yet he loves every delirious minute that he’s being stuffed from both ends like this. 

He whines in protest when big, rough fingers grip at his hair and pull, but it’s better to follow the Monster’s movement than to fight against its strength. It forces the Doctor to lean back and Hayseed helpfully slings the remaining stump of his arm around the man’s chest to hold him upright, pulling him back into the Scarecrow’s lap. It makes Hayseed slide impossibly deeper into him, and the Doctor moans, letting his head fall back on the Scarecrow’s shoulder. It smells of hay and jute and _sweat_ , and he has to fight the sudden urge to pull the damn burlap off and taste what lies beneath it. 

The Doctor looks up to the Monster instead, trying not to let his eyes fall shut everytime Hayseed shifts beneath him. He can’t make out anything. Everything is just hazy shades, but he hears its heavy, rattling breath, and then its strong hand is back, tracing over his belly and his pale, soft thighs, gradually applying more pressure, as if to see how much the small human could handle. The Doctor wants to weep. 

It’s not easy for the Monster to reign in its strength like that, but it finds out soon enough that the Doctor doesn’t mind being stroked and squeezed a bit - it just has to be careful not to pull at him too abruptly. Hog likes the shaky gasp he makes, the nonsensical, hushed words that fall from his lips when he pushes the man’s slim thighs apart further so it can see what Hayseed does that has the Doctor so hot and pliant in his grasp. 

The Scarecrow’s slicked up cock slides into the skinny body in slow, restricted strokes - it makes the Doctor writhe in its arms, but it’s entirely clear that it’s not from pain, the way tries to push back against it. There is no strength left in his thighs and his prosthetic leg slips away uselessly on the slippery bedsheet. He’s struggling like the fly in the spider web, and a surge of excitement warms the Monster’s body at the sight of it. 

Rough fingertips nudge at the Doctor’s thigh, before rubbing carefully over his swollen cock - the man chokes on his gasps, thrusting against the touch instinctively, and then he whimpers when they travel even lower. It makes both Hayseed and the Doctor moan when the Monster touches them where they merge into one, all wet and hot, and it can feel how the man’s body opens in a tight stretch around the hard column of flesh. It wonders… 

The Scarecrow shivers - it’s burning underneath the stuffing and rags, the lenses of its brass eyes are fogged from its own breath and Hayseed can hear the echo of his own harsh gasps underneath the burlap. And still, he feels hottest where he is buried inside the human’s body, riding out his impatient, needy twisting with short, sharp thrusts. Hayseed is way stronger than any man would ever be, though he may not look like it, and his firm grip around the Doctor’s waist is enough to hold him in place. He loves this - loves being so close to his maker, being able to hold onto the man when those intense feelings threaten to carry him away while the Doctor is coming undone in his lap. The Monster’s curiosity makes this even better. 

Hayseed can feel it’s touches, testing and searching, plucking at the last shred of coherency the Doctor is clinging to when it rubs teasingly over where he’s spread open on Hayseed’s cock. The Scarecrow feels the by now all too familiar pull in its groin, and it’s pure instinct that makes it thrust deeper into the slim body, rutting into slick heat the way its body dictates. It pulls that drawn-out, deep moan from the Doctor Hayseed cherishes so much, and the man leans his more of his weight into him. He feels hot and slippery in the Scarecrow’s grasp, and it’s sure it can feel the warmth of the human’s skin through the burlap when the Doctor affectionately presses his forehead into where Hayseed’s cheek has to be. “You’re so good to me… always so good to me…,” he moans, completely beside himself from arousal. 

Nothing makes Hayseed topple over the edge quite so fast as his master’s praise, and this time is no exception. Yet he still whimpers at the magnitude and finality of it - once in motion, nothing stops his impending peak and it’s all he can do to anchor himself by digging his fingers into the man’s skin, a single rock in a churning ocean that threatens to wash him away. 

The Doctor sounds just as out of breath as the Scarecrow feels, though his cock still lies hard and twitching between his thighs - that’s alright, Hayseed knows he was only the warm-up act for the Doctor’s actual pursuit. He knows the intention with which the man has built his creature, though judging from the impressive size the Monster presents now that it’s alive and blood is pumping through its veins, the good Doctor might have just gone overboard in his greed. He knows better than to think this would deter the man - he runs on sheer willpower, so Hayseed expects to be surprised. 

The Scarecrow makes an unhappy sound when its softening cock slips from the Doctor’ well-fucked hole. It doesn’t like the rush of cold air on its sensitive, bare skin, can’t ever seem to get used to it either. So when the Doctor slides off his lap, holding onto the Monster’s thick wrist and arm for support, Hayseed tucks himself back in with hasty movements. He’s sticky and messy down there now but still more comfortable this way, able to enjoy the warm afterglow in his hidden body. 

The Doctor barely has time to recover from their ride. One big hand wraps around his torso - it doesn’t quite reach all the way around him, but it comes close enough to send an excited thrill down the man’ spine. The Monster picks him up as easily as a starving kitten. It doesn’t hurt, not with how relaxed the Doctor is in its grasp, not a trace of leftover tension to be found in him. Once he’s settled, splayed out over the Monster’s chest, each of his long legs at either side of its huge belly, the Doctor wraps his arms around Hog’s neck, pressing his face into chubby chin. 

With most things, the Monster explores it is driven by equal parts curiosity and wariness. But with the Doctor being all limp and compliant and so overly affectionate with it, there is no need to be apprehensive. If he ever were a threat to the Monster, he’s certainly not now. The Doctor is stroking its nape in lazy movements, nuzzling tickling kisses all over the Monster’s skin, careful to avoid the still slightly irritated stitches. His hips move against the swell of its belly all on their own accord in a desperate attempt to get some friction on his cute little cock.

There’s barely any flesh on his bones, and Hog can feel the ridges of the Doctor’s spine underneath his fingertips when he strokes down the man’s back. He’s all hard edges and sharp contours, their maker - only between his legs, where Hayseed has left him wet and open, he’s soft and so hot it makes the Monster growl. The sound vibrates all through its body, washing over the Doctor’s blank nerves and sending him into a frenzied shiver. 

He moans when those thick fingers rub over his hole, still slick from lube and Hayseed’s cum, until the sound gets caught in his throat when the Monster pushes one of them inside - it’s not particularly gentle although the Doctor believes it tries to be, but he’s past feeling pain from the stretch. That is until he feels the pressure of another finger joining it. 

The Monster has no idea how Hayseed managed to fit it in the first place. The Doctor’s body doesn’t give in nearly as easily as the Monster thought it would have to. He’s hot and gripping tight around the intruding appendage, tensing up a bit at first when the Monster tries to join a second finger. That is, only until his ever helpful Scarecrow finds the strength to be of assistance by scrambling up to them and just lets a generous amount of that oily, slick substance drizzle down between the Doctor’s parted cheeks and the Monster’s hand. It’s a huge mess, but then it’s suddenly a smooth, easy slide with which the Monster can push into the man’s body, and it has the Doctor melt against its broad chest. 

It still takes a lot of prodding and coaxing, assisted by Hayseed’s gentle rubs to the Doctor’s quivering thigh, until he’s finally stretched around two of Hog’s fingers, panting wetly against his thick neck. It’s not so much painful yet as it is intense, the sensation chasing all clear thought from his mind, replacing it with raw need. Endorphins flood his whole system, and the Doctor should be glad for it, for they take off the sharp edge and leave him to bask in feverish arousal. He’s clinging to the Monster like a drowning man, delirious from the persistent stretch around the teasing fingers buried inside of him - they rub against his sweet spot in all the right ways, making his painfully hard cock leak in a steady dribble on the Monster’s belly. 

The Doctor’s on top of his high when they pull back, leaving him empty and yearning and he shivers from feeling so obscenely spread open already - yet the nagging voice in the back of his mind remains doubtful that it will be enough. 

He figures he’s about to find out. 

The Doctor feels so dizzy the whole room seems to turn when he slides off the Monster’s belly, and suddenly finds the mattress is under his back. The bed dips and sways when the Monster shifts so it can kneel, tearing at the restricting pants in the same movement. It’s clearly impatient now, and that excites the Doctor as much as it frightens him. But if he ever had a chance to get out of this, it vanishes the moment the Monster simply shoves one huge hand under his hips. With no effort at all, it lifts the man’s whole lower body from the mattress to pull him closer, forcing the sheer width of its body between the Doctor’s spread legs. 

“Oh… Oh God, oh God… there you go, Hoggie… oh fuck…”

It’s too big. Of course, it is, the Doctor knew it was the second he had laid eyes on that glorious beast of a cock, but now that it presses hard and unrelenting against his hole, he feels the first surge of panic. The spongy tip keeps catching at the rim, and at first, the pressure is so good - until it suddenly tilts and a sharp pain makes the Doctor flinch, whining low in his throat. All the lube in the world doesn’t change that. 

The Monster huffs, impatient and irritated, and the Doctor wants to cry with frustration. He can’t have made it all the way here to fail at that very last step, he refuses to believe this. His fogged brain is spiraling, struggling to refute the pain, but his tension only makes it worse. The Doctor feels almost ready to sob when next to his head, the mattress dips again and he realizes he has forgotten to keep track of his Scarecrow. 

Hayseed is used to the Doctor telling him what he needs. In his lab, or on the surgery table, the Doctor has a sharp mind, thinking through every possibility, instructing Hayseed with court commands if he needs the Scarecrow’s assistance. With his basic needs, he is more negligent - he’d forget to eat or to sleep if Hayseed didn’t make him, and oftentimes it seems the Doctor relies on this voluntarily. No need to keep track of his meals or resting hours if someone else does it for him, which means more room for ideas. Now, in this very precarious situation, high from a thousand emotions, Hayseed already knows what he needs before the good Doctor can even think about it. 

The man’s brow is sweaty and hot when Hayseed brushes over it, and his hazy eyes look up at the softly whirring lenses. “I can’t, Hayseed, I can’t…,” he whispers with a broken voice, closing his eyes when the Scarecrow just makes a soothing noise at him. 

It’s such a strange sound, numbing all the Doctor’s racing thoughts, and he sees a whisper of grass swaying in the wind. The Doctor can feel himself relax in the Monster’s grasp, but before he can think about whether this will really help him Hayseed’s hand vanishes. When it returns a second later, the Doctor can barely see the flash of a white cloth in front of his slowly opening eyes before it’s pressed over his nose and mouth. 

His eyes fly open, but as he gasps for breath to ask Hayseed what he’s doing, he already knows. Even strongly diluted the sickly sweet, biting smell of ether floods his nostrils, clinging to the soft tissue in his throat like syrup. The Doctor doesn’t have time to think about whether this was a good idea - the effect is almost immediate. 

The Monster doesn’t know what Hayseed has done to the man. He just gets very limp all of a sudden, melting into the Monster’s grasp like butter under the sun, and this time when Hog pushes against him, the Doctor doesn’t flinch. He just moans, rubbing his face into the Scarecrow’s hand as soon as it has discarded the tissue again. “Smart boy, smart boy...” he mumbles over and over again, though his speech is slurred. Hayseed just giggles quietly. 

High from the narcotic, the Doctor feels like he’s floating. It’s like his body has never known tension or pain, it’s just aflame with lust and deprived arousal. It turns him into a lamb cheerfully awaiting its slaughter, between his legs is the stake that will claim him. There’s so much pressure - it never ends, he’s just stretching and stretching so impossibly wide - 

The man’s cry is a broken, delirious sound when the Monster finally slides inside of him - it’s grunting in heavy satisfaction, visibly shaking from keeping itself from just burying the tiny human under its bulk and fuck him like some primitive instinct in it yearns to. It’d most likely be their first and last time together. It isn’t as smart as Hayseed maybe, but smart enough to understand that. 

There’s a deep moan laced in each rattling breath now when Hog rubs his thumb over the Doctor’s fluttering chest, feeling each frantic heartbeat pound against the man’s rib cage. The Doctor’s pale hand is light as a feather when it slowly strokes Hog’s wrist in a dazed, encouraging touch. He is so out of it, all of his sharp features soft and slack, unfocused eyes looking up at the Monster’s face with so much unabashed adoration, Hog feels a sudden flush of warmth not only in his groin but also his neck and ears. The Doctor keeps spluttering nonsense, interrupted by choked moans, when the Monster pushes further inside - now that his body has given in, it opens up more easily for the Monster’s cock, even if it needs to stretch far beyond what’s reasonable. Inside, he’s just molten heat, and it’s the best thing Hog remembers feeling ever since he first woke up. 

The Monster wouldn’t have needed to watch Hayseed to know what it wants to do, the movement is completely instinctive. It just pulls out ever so slightly to shove its aching cock back in, sinking even deeper than it was before, and slim fingers desperately clutch at the Monster’s hand. Hog does it again, and this time the man’s eyes roll back, his slim thighs are trembling despite the ether rush. It doesn’t stop his body from reacting to sensation, it just stops it from being painful. 

All the Doctor feels is blissful euphoria and overwhelming pleasure, anchored so safely between his two creatures - they’re no longer just his experiments, just his friends or companions, they are both a part of him now as much as he is of them. It’s a most overwhelming feeling, brought to physical manifestation by how absurdly big the Monster is inside of him, wrecking his skinny body with a pleasure that is too much to contain, and yet it has nowhere to go. The Doctor is just panting in short, wet huffs against Hayseed’s palm now, certain he’ll lose his mind for good if the Scarecrow lets go of him. It doesn’t do that. It keeps stroking his cheek with its blackened fingertips, crooning at him in soft sounds that resemble nothing human, though if the Doctor could spare it even a single thought, he’d notice the lingering excitement somewhere in that noise. 

But all that’s left of his perception is padded by sweet ether fumes, carrying him higher than birds fly, higher than clouds hang in the sky, higher even than the very stars blinking in the firmament. Maybe he is a star; the Doctor feels hot enough to think so. A dying, melting, imploding star who doesn’t hear the guttural sounds falling from his lips when the Monster grunts and rumbles heavily through its arousal, claiming the frail body for its own until it’s pressed flush between the Doctor’s legs. Its prominent belly is spreading them apart even further than necessary, spilling over the man’s abdomen and covering his unwavering erection. He's stretched so far he's sure he'll break, his stuffed hole throbbing weakly around the excessive girth of his Monster’s cock. It will leave him aching for days, and in the darkest pits of his mind, the Doctor craves exactly for that. 

The Monster didn’t know arousal or pleasure like this before - it’s a new, strange feeling, but one that beckons it closer instead of pushing it away with apprehension. For this, it doesn’t need a teacher. It’s an ancient impulse that has it fall into a slow, dragging rhythm, the urge to chase more of that tingling, rewarding sensation held at bay only by the fascination it brings the Monster to take his own maker apart like this. He makes the prettiest sounds, impaled on the Monster’s huge cock, whimpering through each slick slide and gasping into the Scarecrow’s touch. 

He's trying to look down his body with bleary eyes that don’t see details. Just a huge body, the familiar sickly pale green of his Monster’s skin, the healing scars on its body that are crossing its chest, holding the big belly in place that rubs against the man’s cock so deliciously. “Come on, Hoggie, come on… ‘m good, come on…,” the Doctor hears himself urge on the massive creature and it’s probably his death wish speaking. He feels so good, though, he can’t help it. 

It’s pure torture, but he had to build his Monster this way, and now he’s reaping the spoils. Hog takes the cue to stop playing with the Doctor, knocking the breath from his lungs with a single forceful shove, and once the Monster learns that the man can apparently take that too, there’s really no holding back anymore. Stuffed full of so much cock the Doctor’s pretty sure he’s gonna choke on it - it consumes all of him, spreads him open so good and way too much, claiming places no one else did before. It’s molding the Doctor’s body to fit around it like he has sculpted the Monster’s body, and he feels some kind of depraved, morbid circle close. The man’s ears are ringing from his own trembling, croaking moans and the steady hum in the Monster’s chest, interrupted by sharp huffs that are hot and damp on his pale skin, but he revels in the slap of skin and the wet squelch of lube and cum.

It just spurs on the Monster further, and it falls forward a bit, just until it can support itself leaning over the tiny human with one hand that’s big enough to crack the Doctor’s head like a walnut. Hog’s not too rough with him, he can tell because Hayseed lets him pick up speed, lets his thrusts become more urgent and with more intent when that tight, burning feeling in the Monster’s gut cries for more and more, like a log fire that wanted to devour a forest. 

Hayseed’s the one who guides his creator through this now when weeks ago it had been the other way around, walking the razor-sharp line between protecting and enabling the Doctor. He wipes sweat and tears from the man’s skin, feeling him shake and shiver and still try his best to meet the Monster’s harsher thrusts. The prosthetic hand grips whatever of Hayseed it can find, while the flesh one drops from the Monster’s wrist to rub at his own chest, fingernails leaving faint red welts in their wake. The Doctor doesn’t stop, scratching at his skin as he goes down, and then he slips his hand between where Hog’s jiggling belly moves over his stomach and _giggles_. It’s an utterly desperate, euphoric sound, broken every the Monster pushes inside of him. 

“Oh God… oh God, forgive me,” he chokes on sobs and laughter and moans all the same, but why would God listen when he has ever only defied Him in words and actions alike. Right below his belly button the Doctor can feel the skin of his sunken in stomach bulge and stretch every time the Monster buries its cock into the hilt, grunting away happily. His orgasm hits him so unexpectedly his vision goes blank for a second. He bursts like an overripe fruit, and next to his headstrong fingers clutch at the bedsheet when his seed slicks the Doctor’s hand between their bellies. The Doctor is barely aware of the snuffling sounds - but Hayseed watches the Monster’s nostrils flare. It’s usually dark, cold eyes are heavy-lidded and its tongue is poking out from its mouth in a way that’s almost adorable, and Hog is huffing excitedly when the smell of the Doctor’s release mixes with that of his arousal. As if he was rewarded for its effort, and it sends a visible rush through him. 

The Doctor’s like a ragdoll in the Monster’s grasp, and its bulging muscles are trembling with the effort to not just crush the man in its hand - it grabs for the bedpost instead, and wood splinters under the forceful grip as it ruts into the Doctor’s slick, open hole that offers no more resistance. It grunts harshly and the Doctor can only whimper through his dazed state when the Monster seems to try to bury itself even deeper, just a bit more, impatient and possessive. He can feel the Monster’s cock throb inside him as it fills him, rumbling through its first orgasm. It never stops, though the harsh thrust turns into languid, lazy movements as the Monster rides out the warm, glowing aftershocks. 

It’s breathing heavily, but there is a sense of calm in its face that Hayseed has never seen before. When the Monster lets go of the bedpost it leaves behind the cracked impressions of fingerprints, but it has enough sense to lean back instead of forward as not to bury the man under his weight. The Doctor basically slides out of its lap as soon as Hog loosens his grip, there’s not a muscle in his body that’d still hold him upright. 

He’s wincing pitifully when the Monster’s softening cock slips from his overstretched hole, leaving him open and cold and leaking cum in such copious amounts it makes him moan again, despite his throat feeling raw and chafed. The Doctor’s usually bright amber eyes are just blown pupils when Hayseed carefully scoops him in his arms. 

The bed creaks when Hog finally flops down on his side, his huffs sounding somewhat drained now. His empty eyes are devoid of almost any emotion but lingering curiosity when he watches Hayseed peel the Doctor out of his torn clothes, petting him soothingly when he’s shivering with a sudden tremor that wrecks his frail body. 

He looks very small and very pretty, Hog thinks, flushed and exhausted and deeply satisfied. Carefully he reaches for the lab coat and drapes it over the Doctor, who curls up underneath it. He’s like a tiny ball, all pliant and soft when Hog pulls him in and feels the Doctor nuzzle into his chest, sniffling quietly through the Monster’s soothing, deep humming. “ _Perfect…_ ,” it rumbles in its slow, dragged-out way of speaking. It’s the best word it knows, one the Doctor always uses when the Monster has done well, and it feels the Doctor laugh weakly. 

“Yes, Hoggie, t’was perfect…,” the Doctor mumbles, all but trying to vanish under the coat and the Monster’s big hand. He’s sighing in content when he hears the familiar rustling of Hayseed moving behind him. “Love you so much, Hoggie… love you both so much…” The Doctor’s voice is cracked and raspy but full of emotions. Hayseed barely gets him to drink a few sips of water from a cup before the man lets his head fall back onto the mattress, this time for good. He’s asleep by the time Hayseed has stretched out next to them.

-

The Doctor is still passed out fast when the Monster stirs from its short nap. Hayseed is already looking at it, wondering, questioning, who knows with the Scarecrow. Its aura feels much friendlier now though, pleasant and reaching out for the Monster instead of just observing it warily. That’s a lot nicer. 

Outside, night has fallen already, and the castle is as quiet as it can be with the wind howling through cracks in the stone and mice scurrying about. It’s still a peaceful time in the castle - interrupted only be the Monster’s belly growling angrily. It has taken a while for its appetites to set in, in more than one way, and now it’s so hungry it grumbles unhappily. Hayseed nudges its arm with the slightest touch, and then the Scarecrow shifts to get up. Its single hand beckons Hog to come to follow it, and once again the stitched grin looks too wide and too wicked in the shine of a torch Hayseed lights in the dying fire of the fireplace. 

But he’s _really_ hungry, and so Hog covers the Doctor with a blanket as best as he can and heaves himself up to join the Scarecrow. He turns around once to fetch the pants - one of the leg seams has ripped, but it’s better than nothing. The Doctor said they didn’t “waltz around naked in the castle, we are not animals, Hog”.

-

Hayseed is a much better cat hunter than the Monster. He does something, Hog is not sure what, but when he crouches and extends his hand, they come sniffing carefully, lured in by the soothing whispered nothings from underneath the burlap. They rub against him luxuriously until he can pick them up, cradling them with the stump of his arm, rubbing behind their ears. And then he snaps their neck so quickly, they never see it coming. Hog goes through five of them, the steaming guts cooling quickly once he’s torn them open, before he’s full. 

Hayseed hums cheerfully when he watches Hog have his supper. For now, the Monster is happy with cats. But its appetite will grow, and it’s only a matter of time until it will look for other, more tasteful options. Hayseed smile under the burlap stretches so far it tears at his sutured lips. Coincidentally, he happens to know a village full of savory options for the Monster.

**Author's Note:**

> *flops down dead*
> 
> Thank you for reading - this was a piece of work, not gonna lie, so if you'd drop me a comment and tell me what you think I'd love you forever <3
> 
>  
> 
> My wonderful, wonderful friend made the banner and the fanart for this, you should seriously consider commissioning her, which you can do [here](http://armatages.tumblr.com/post/178679474173/armatages-icons-10-one-character-headshot)!
> 
> You can also come hang out at my [tumblr](https://piggyofoz.tumblr.com/)! (NSFW version [here](https://piggyofoz-nsfw.tumblr.com/).)


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